


they say the ocean's blue but it's black right now (and black the sky is too)

by stardustgirl



Series: i’m a fool with a curse and a crush (he’s a teenager in love) [6]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (and for everyone whos asked in the comments on the rest of the series), (as in zuko genuinely tries to get himself to be straight), (but we all know that doesnt work ahaa), (for once), (i just am Very Tired lol), (in case you couldnt tell), (kind of? im not sure but id rather warn than not), (ty for asking), (yes im ok), A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And i hate him, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aversion Therapy, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Blood, Boys In Love, Child Abuse, Coronavirus is mentioned, Dark, Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship/Love, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Good Sibling Zuko (Avatar), Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Past Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Pining, Protective Azula (Avatar), Protective Sokka (Avatar), Protective Zuko (Avatar), Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suki & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, Texting, Therapist Zhao (Avatar), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Wingman Suki (Avatar), Zhao (Avatar) is a creep, Zuko (Avatar) Has Anxiety, Zuko (Avatar) Has Depression, Zuko (Avatar) Has Issues, Zuko (Avatar) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, at all, but hes only mentioned and in flashbacks thankfully, conversion therapy, mlm and wlw Solidarity !!, not in a good place during this one, the self-harm is pretty straight up just a general heads up to everyone, vent fic, zuko's mind is also just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: "If he finds out you’re here—if he evensuspectsthat you’re here—““That’s whyI’mhere, remember?” Suki pipes up.  “Fake girlfriend extraordinaire?"(Or; Zuko, spiraling, and the fake relationship he never knew he needed.  Oh, and quarantine too.)
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Suki & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: i’m a fool with a curse and a crush (he’s a teenager in love) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833397
Comments: 15
Kudos: 384





	they say the ocean's blue but it's black right now (and black the sky is too)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for triggers please y'all!! If any of that could potentially trigger you, then don't read this! Stay safe~
> 
> OH YEAH I meant to say this when I originally posted this lol but this is a prompt fill for “Backhand Slap” for Bad Things Happen Bingo.

He watches the blood flow in rivulets from the now-uncovered long, thin scabs along his legs. He presses a tissue to one, catching the blood and watching it soak into the paper like a flower in bloom. It’s almost beautiful, he thinks.

In the same way that flower arrangements at funerals are beautiful, that butterflies pinned to display cases are beautiful. It’s beautiful in its morbidity.

Zuko turns, marking down another set of three tallies in his notebook.

_I will not think of boys. I will not think of boys. I will not think of boys,_ he writes below them. His leg aches, and his head throbs, but at least Dr. Zhao and his father will be pleased. The injuries are easy enough to hide from Sokka on FaceTime—and in person, if he wears long pants—and Azula can be persuaded with an excuse about his anxiety making him pick at everything again.

Hissing in pain, he tugs his pant leg back down over the tracks of drying blood, and gets to his feet. He walks to his bathroom, chucking the tissue in the trash and running a hand through his hair as he looks in the mirror. His eyes are rimmed with circles as dark as his mind.

He can feel himself falling, only this time it’s not for Sokka.

* * *

Zuko lays flat on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. There’s no point in trying anymore, is there? Not if he’s such a sinner he can’t even feel guilty for loving boys.

He could get up, could go kill himself or just go pick at more scabs while thinking of boys, so he can stagger into Zhao’s office a dead man but be able to whisper _I did it_ even as his heart bleeds out of the faith shallowly containing his chest.

Instead, though, he stares at the ceiling.

_I want to die,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t take any actions toward it. He’s too tired.

* * *

_call me??_

He stares at the text for a long, long time.

And then he turns his phone off, sets it facedown on his nightstand, and tries to take a nap.

* * *

He can’t remember what it felt like to feel okay.

* * *

Zuko’s father comes in at some point, and Zuko sits up more for him than for anything else so far today—this week? this month?—and even halfway closes his laptop.

“Dr. Zhao told me that you were supposed to come to _me_ and ask for a beating _yourself,_ boy,” he spits. Zuko swallows, hard, and then closes his laptop all the way. He sets it off to the side and climbs off the bed carefully.

“I’m sorry, Father. I forgot th—“

“Just get on the floor.”

Zuko gets to his hands and knees, locking his gaze on the hardwood below him as he hears the quiet clink signalling that his father has removed his belt. He braces himself, inhaling. But the blow doesn’t come.

Instead, he sees his father’s feet as they enter into his field of vision and come to a stop directly in front of Zuko. He finds himself holding his breath as Father reaches down to grasp him by the chin, tipping his head up, up, up—

“You. Are. _Nothing._ ”

“I know, sir.”

“Don’t _tell me_ that you know; _prove it,_ ” Father snarls, backhanding him, hard. The blow sends Zuko careening to the ground, his head slamming against the floor before he can stop himself. Father comes closer, the belt raised, and Zuko raises his hands in a— _display of weakness—_ vain attempt to shield himself—

Father’s phone rings.

Still snarling, the man takes out his phone, glancing at the caller ID. Reluctantly, he lowers the belt to the floor and answers the call, his voice immediately reverting to the one he uses with the other board members of Sozin Corporations.

“Yes, hello. I called earlier to check on the status of that report—you know, the regional report that I was _promised_ by Ryu’s team would be in my inbox within four hours _yesterday—_ “

As Father’s attention leaves him, he forces himself to get up. Shaking and hating himself for it, he quietly lets himself out of the room.

Father doesn’t even look up.

* * *

The beating comes later that night, hours after dinner, and leaves Zuko vomiting into the toilet for what feels like hours but is likely only minutes. When he finally feels steady enough to pull away, he leans back against the wall, staring blankly at the medicine cabinet under the sink.

* * *

Days pass. Sokka texts him on most of them, he thinks. At first it’s just _are u okay?_ s and _can u call in an hour?? imy lol_ s but eventually they turn to _hey did u do piandao’s work yet??_ s and _yo do u wanna call to work on the hw from pakku together?_ s, and then at some point the daily texts turn to every other day texts turn to weekly texts turn to occasional texts.

Zuko knows he’s losing him.

But he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

Maybe Zhao _is_ right, after all, and he shouldn’t bother to keep caring about anyone at all.

(Maybe his father _is_ right, after all, and he shouldn’t bother to keep breathing at all.)

* * *

At some point, Zuko realizes that this isn’t how he should be. He realizes that something is deeply, deeply _wrong_ with the fact that he only leaves his room once a day for food—if he’s lucky—and hardly speaks except to tell his father _no sir_ and _yes sir_ and _you’re right and I_ shouldn’t _be alive sir._

He writes it all off as a side effect of his wrongness.

However, at some point, Azula realizes. And that’s where the danger begins.

She waltzes into his room one morning at the unearthly hour of eleven AM—three hours before he would wake up on any other day—while blasting some indie band he doesn’t recognize from her phone.

“Get up, Zuzu. We’re getting rid of your inability to do anything and replacing it with an actual, functioning human being,” she announces, nearly shouting above the music.

“Get out, Azula,” he replies, groaning. “Let me sleep.”

“That’s all you’ve _been_ doing, Dum Dum,” she snaps, and the use of her childhood nickname for him is what drags him up from unconsciousness. “Just sleeping and staying in here. I haven’t seen you in _days._ ”

“Yes, you have. I saw you in the kitchen yesterday.”

She levels an unimpressed look at him as he sits up, pushing some of the covers off. “Yesterday, at _midnight,_ while you looked like a deer caught in the headlights trying to hoard as much food as possible. So more of a squirrel actually, in that case.”

“So?”

Azula sighs loudly, yanking the rest of the blankets off, ignoring his yelp at the sudden temperature change. “ _So,_ that was the _only_ time I saw you yesterday, which is practically insane considering that we’ve all been in this stupid house practically 24/7 for the last three months.”

“And maybe I want my privacy.”

“Or _maybe_ you were trying to avoid Father.”

He stills, because it’s the truth. “So what if I was?”

“Because he _wants that,_ Zuko. He _wants_ you to be so scared of him you just hole up in here.”

“And if it keeps me safe?” he bites out before he can stop himself.

A strange look comes over Azula’s face. “He’s been hurting you again, hasn’t he?”

“No. No, he hasn’t, Father wouldn’t—“

“Zuzu, unlike you, I’m not _stupid._ It’s not a hard conclusion to reach.”

“He hasn’t done—“

“Zuko! _Stop lying._ ”

He shuts his mouth so fast his teeth clack together, and Azula lays a hand over his carefully.

“Tell me what he’s done,” she whispers.

And as Zuko’s heart thunders in its cage woven of words and pain, he realizes that he can’t. He never can. Because to tell her—to tell _anybody_ aside from the part of his mind that shakes its head at all of it—would be admitting that it happened.

“He’s done _nothing,_ Azula. _Nothing,_ ” he lies. “I’m just...tired.”

And Azula, the master liar herself?

With a sad, sad smile, she replies, “If you say so.”

The cage of his chest tightens as she leaves.

* * *

He takes his AP exams. He remembers the prompts afterwards for absolutely none of them.

He sleeps the rest of the day after each one.

* * *

Summer begins. The heat encourages Zuko to switch to shorts, to abandon the jeans and sweats he’s been wearing to hide the scabs-becoming-scars. He gives in.

After all, Father won’t care. And he can tell Azula he just has a tendency to scratch himself in his sleep.

(When he tells her, she doesn’t seem like she believes him, but she doesn’t fight it.)

* * *

Every day, he can feel the anxiety, the very fear of _being,_ winding itself tighter and tighter around his chest until his ribs splinter and break. His mind is the same; his skull cracks under the heat of the summer sun edging in through windows and under the heat of his sins until it’s squeezing his head long enough and hard enough to give him near-constant migraines.

Sokka texts more again, now that they’re technically out of school, but Zuko still doesn’t respond much.

He suspects it’s only Azula and Ty Lee’s near-constant communication that lets the rest of them know he’s still alive. Not kicking, not by any measure of that, but instead barely breathing around the shattered confines of his heart, but his chest is still rising and falling occasionally. Just enough to let him know he hasn’t been allowed to give in yet.

Zuko wonders if, some day, Father will give into his hatred and finally kill him.

(A part of him that grows larger by the day _wishes_ he would, that he’d give in sooner rather than later and end this pantomimed act of a family. But then Azula would be alone, he remembers. So he forces his chest to rise and fall beyond its cavity another day.)

* * *

And then, one day, someone knocks on the door. Azula calls up, “Zuzu, it’s for you!” and he leaves his room for the first time that day.

He walks out to the banister overlooking the front entryway and nearly falls over— _what a way to go_ that _would be—_ at the sight of the person outside.

Suki offers a little wave, eyebrows raised above her mask, and he quickly realizes what a sight he must look. Belatedly, he tries in vain to make his hair at least somewhat presentable for seeing people he’s not related to. He clears his throat as Azula turns to glance up at him, too.

“Hey, uh, Suki, hi. What...what brings you up here? I thought you were….”

“Wanted to check in on my favorite boyfriend in person! FaceTime and Zoom just don’t do it, you know, and I just needed to see your _face,_ yeah?”

This doesn’t sound like the Suki Kyoshi _he_ knows, the Suki-Kyoshi-captain-of-the-soccer-team, but quarantine’s changed them all, he supposes. But...but what was that she’d said at the beginning? About him being…?

“Wait, boyfriend? Who’s—“

“ _You,_ Zuko! Have you been stuck inside for so long you forgot? We literally FaceTimed like, yesterday, but….”

She continues to ramble, and Zuko’s good brow continues to furrow, because he doesn’t _have_ a girlfriend and likely never _will_ because he’s too wrong to even be alive and—

And then. And _then..._ and then he realizes what a gift Suki’s brought with her.

Girlfriend. Father had hissed at him, once, during a beating, that if he _really_ wanted to fix himself, he should just go and get a girlfriend like every other self—and family—respecting boy his age.

Maybe...maybe Suki can help him convince Father and Zhao that he really _is_ fixed, and that he doesn’t still spend some nights up till three thinking just of Sokka’s eyes but instead remembering the way Jet’s mouth had felt against his (and the way Jet has left him on read since he got the scar).

Zuko forces himself back to reality, swallowing hard. “Yeah, sorry, quarantine’s really messed with my brain,” he interrupts, laughing awkwardly. He can see Suki’s smile just by her eyes.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Azula cuts in, turning away from the door. “But Zuzu, come down _here_ to do it, like every other self-respecting host. Then you and your _girlfriend_ can make out outside or something.”

“Azula—“ he starts, but Suki interrupts him with a laugh.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” She gestures for him to come down and, sighing, he nods.

“Let me go grab a mask.” He slips back into his room, rummaging in a drawer for a long, long minute before finding one and heading downstairs. He passes Azula on her way up, and temporarily placates her bewildered expression by pointing to his phone. She understands the silent meaning and nods, disappearing from view as he reaches the ground floor.

He follows Suki out to the drive, quietly shutting the door behind him. She walks towards her car, gesturing, and when he squints he realizes he can make out someone else in the backseat.

“You _murdered_ someone? Suki, that’s not—“

“Shut up, Sparky, I didn’t kill _anyone._ Though I _would_ very much like to kill your dad,” she adds in an undertone. “Just go open the door. You’ll see.”

Dubious— _and yet feeling more alive than he’s felt in_ months—Zuko walks to the opposite side of the sedan, opening the door.

Sokka.

The other boy sits in the backseat, hastily strapping a mask to his face as the door opens. He offers an awkward little wave.

“Hey.”

Zuko offers one in return. “Hello.”

They stand awkwardly like that for a moment before Suki clears her throat. Sokka swallows, hard, and Zuko hates the fact his gaze is drawn to his throat with the movement.

“So, uh, you weren’t answering my texts. Why?”

“Why did you get _Suki_ to drive you over here?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get yourself _murdered_ by your horrible excuse for a dad, Zuko!” Sokka snaps. “I didn’t know how he’d react if he saw a guy your age here since you said he found out and—“

“Sokka. Thank you.”

Sokka stops his rambling, nodding slowly. “I was worried,” he admits, quieter. Zuko suddenly realizes Suki’s moved back to give them more space. “I didn’t know if...if you were okay.”

Jet _hadn’t worried about his scar._ Or _about why Zuko was gone from school for two weeks._

He doesn’t know how to react to Sokka—to _anyone_ besides his uncle, really—caring like this.

“I am,” he lies. “But...but thank you.”

Sokka just nods. And then: “But are you _sure?_ ”

Sokka knows the truth, he remembers. Sokka knows about his conflicting stories about the scar. Sokka knows—Sokka knows—Sokka _knows—_

“—ko, Zuko, breathe with me. Breathe. In, out. _Breathe._ ”

Sokka’s voice manages to break through his spiraling mind and Zuko inhales sharply through the mask, blinking rapidly to ground himself.

“It’s okay, Zuko. It’s okay.”

He nods hurriedly, trying to show Sokka that he’s _fine,_ that he’s not wilting inside and already trembling before his father as he beats him for his sins again. As he beats him upon realizing who Sokka is. As he beats him for Sokka’s presence _here._

“You guys should go. Now. Before my father comes.”

Sokka snorts, and he can hear Suki hum in the negative from behind him. “Uh, no way. We’re not gonna just _abandon you_ to Loser Lord in there.”

Loser Lord. That’s a new one. “You have to. If he finds out you’re here—if he even _suspects_ that you’re here—“

“That’s why _I’m_ here, remember?” Suki pipes up. “Fake girlfriend extraordinaire? And Ethan Hunt-esque chauffeur now, too?”

Zuko can’t help but crack a slight smile at that, chuckling along with Sokka.

“Still, though. You guys need to go. Father’s at work, and I have no idea how long he’ll be there; his last meeting was twenty minutes ago. We can plan out a better time.”

“Of course.”

Sokka nods, and Zuko steps back and closes the car door. Sokka pulls his mask off, mouthing something that Zuko can’t understand.

“What?”

He mouths it again, but Zuko still doesn’t get it. Suki sighs loudly, gesturing back toward the house.

“He said, ‘I love you,’” she murmurs as they walk back to the front. Zuko stumbles to a halt.

“ _What?_ ”

“He said, ‘I love you,’” she repeats, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “And he does, Zuko. He really, really does.”

He finds himself hoping hopelessly for the first time in months.

* * *

That night, when he finds himself staring blankly at the ceiling in the darkness, his mind keeps getting drawn back to Sokka and Suki and their plan. And how Sokka has been telling him for _years_ now, though not in so many words, that he loves him.

(Though Zuko’s name and words like _pretty boy_ and _I love your mouth_ and _so gorgeous, yeah?_ crossed Jet’s lips hundreds of times, those three words Sokka had told him in the car only a few hours ago never had.)

**Author's Note:**

> also I’m now realizing that the first scene makes it seem like Zuko is In Favor of self harm which he Absolutely Is Not ! he’s just trying to find some way to reason with himself about the whole mess but yeah ,, sorry this makes no sense lol I wrote half of this fic at 2 am


End file.
